


Notches in his Pistol

by hopeless_eccentric



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Bandit Peter Nureyev, Cowboy AU, Domestic Fluff, Duelling, Fluff, Married Couple, Other, Sheriff Juno Steel, almost but like. youll see, homoerotic pistol duels, the Ruby 7 is a horse, this is so self indulgent i love it, this is the gayest thing ive ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29913000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric
Summary: Peter Ransom was one of those bandits who cut a sunset stained shadow wherever he went, broken only by the gunmetal shine of his two dark eyes and the coyote’s grin that snarled across his face. His silhouette was as long and lean as the lasso snaked around the hip of his chaps, those dangerous lines only broken by the wide brim of his hat.Despite what the snarling of his wanted posters would suggest, Ransom had a habit of sweeping the hat down to his chest with a chivalrous bow whenever he felt like softening that rattlesnake’s grin a bit.A tip of his hat wouldn’t save him now. Neither would that long, dark shadow. With the bone-white sun of high noon beating down on him from above and a bullet in the sheriff’s chamber readied just for him, his only way out was to be the quicker draw.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 22
Kudos: 63





	Notches in his Pistol

**Author's Note:**

> hello folks i had the time of my life writing this yeehaw. yes the title is from big iron on his hip. it was stuck in my head all day
> 
> content warnings for a fakeout death, gun violence (no injuries or blood)

Peter Ransom was one of those bandits who cut a sunset stained shadow wherever he went, broken only by the gunmetal shine of his two dark eyes and the coyote’s grin that snarled across his face. His silhouette was as long and lean as the lasso snaked around the hip of his chaps, those dangerous lines only broken by the wide brim of his hat. 

Despite what the snarling of his wanted posters would suggest, Ransom had a habit of sweeping the hat down to his chest with a chivalrous bow whenever he felt like softening that rattlesnake’s grin a bit.

A tip of his hat wouldn’t save him now. Neither would that long, dark shadow. With the bone-white sun of high noon beating down on him from above and a bullet in the sheriff’s chamber readied just for him, his only way out was to be the quicker draw.

That didn’t seem to change anything in his mannerisms. He still greeted the sheriff with a smile and a tip of his hat, offering one gloved hand for one last shake with his long since sworn enemy.

“You’re in a good mood,” Sheriff Juno Steel hissed, throwing a glance to either side to ensure the town doctor wasn’t close enough to hear.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” Ransom chuckled. “Either I win or I don’t live to see my failure. Besides, I’m always more than happy to be in such fine company, my dear sheriff.”

“Yeah, well don’t count your chickens until you’ve taken your shot,” Juno huffed, doing his best not to let his thoughts linger too long on the feeling of a wedding band beneath Ransom’s glove once he cast the hand away.

Ransom had dueled before. That was clear from his confidence as much as it was clear from the twenty-some notches carved into the grip of the pistol on his hip. While the little graveyard whittled into his gun was enough to get Juno’s pulse up, Ransom’s casual smile and easy posture were a little too clean for someone fifteen paces away from staring down the fastest draw this side of the Mississippi.

Thankfully, Juno had the face of the clocktower to stare down instead, watching the hands inch closer and closer to the moment he would need to shoot. The once white wood, now jaundiced with the staining of red rock sand, blazed in the sunlight, as if determined to burn Juno’s eyes out before he could ever consider using them to aim.

He did his best to hide a jump when the hand inched one minute closer to high noon. Thankfully, the onlookers all had their attention on the clock as well, so Ransom managed to sneak a hand behind him and squeeze Juno’s gloved fingers, leaving the gathered crowd none the wiser.

“Careful,” Juno murmured.

“For luck, my dear sheriff,” Ransom assured him.

Juno didn’t have a chance to respond, his open-mouthed search for words cut short by the calling of the paces. Each step could have been a thousand miles. Every inch down the dusty road of main street was bare without the slight pressure of Peter Ransom standing behind him. He couldn’t help but wish for wind or rain or anything to cut through the still, stale air that grew heavier with every second he inched towards the tolling of the clock tower.

When he turned, the silent ticking of the clock turning to low pounding in his ears, Ransom smiled, sweet and bright and easy. Even if his grip around the pistol was iron, he looked as likely to break into a friendly laugh upon the tolling of the bell as he did to fire.

The minute seemed to stretch into days, so Juno knew it was only a matter of time until it ended. When the first tolling of that funeral bell cut through the air, Juno swallowed dryly, grimacing at the bitter taste of sand upon his tongue, and began to count.

One.

Ransom’s sharp eyes darted up to the clock tower above Juno’s head.

Two.

Juno wiped his hand on his chaps, ensuring a sweaty palm wouldn’t be his end.

Three.

Ransom’s left hand curled in on itself, his thumb running along the line of a ring hidden on his fourth finger.

Four.

Juno found himself doing the same.

Five.

Ransom squeezed his hand in a fist, then released it. Juno had claimed him as a false rival for long enough to know a silent expression of terror when he saw one.

Six.

Juno tried his best not to think of the wedding band on his own hand. It hadn’t cost him much, just a bullet and a promise that he’d retire once that bullet fired.

Seven.

Ransom’s smile slipped away, traded for a set jaw and a steely gaze. Whatever sparks had bloomed there moments before sizzled out, beaten into silence by the heavy desert air.

Eight.

Juno pulled the hammer back.

Nine.

Ransom shifted his feet.

Ten.

Juno tried not to think about the consequence of missing his shot.

Eleven.

He tried to think of a one second prayer to whoever the hell might be listening. The last aching ring of the bell cried out before he could.

Ransom didn’t even have a chance to fire.

To an onlooker, the scene looked simple enough. The sheriff shot, the outlaw fell, and the silence was shattered with a gunshot and the pounding of footsteps as the sheriff who proclaimed this to be his final duel shoved the doctor out of the way to get a pair of his fingers on Ransom’s pulse point.

From the eyes of the now former sheriff, he couldn’t throw the gun aside and sprint those thirty paces fast enough. Where the air had ached with stillness before, it now burned, caking his eyes and mouth and throat as Juno fell to his knees where Ransom lay, doing his best to pretend not to breathe.

“He’s dead,” Juno muttered with enough conviction that the gathered might truly believe there had been no blood on account of the color of the bandit’s hat, now bearing a hole from where the bullet with his name on it had torn through.

That seemed to be enough to get the doctor to back off and the silence of the crowd to shatter as well.

Juno hadn’t exactly lied. Peter Ransom, as far as they knew, lay dead on the ground. They didn’t need to know that Peter Nureyev did his best to hold still as Juno picked him up and muttered something about promising to bury him, nor that both he and his fiancee held their breath and counted the paces until Nureyev was finally able to burst out in quieted laughter.

“Shh,” Juno hissed. “You’re gonna get us caught.”

“And to think you said you were a wretched actor,” Nureyev shook his head. “You were wonderful, my love.”

“Gave me a goddamn heart attack. I thought I might have actually hit you for a second,” Juno huffed.

“You make my knees weak enough already, dear,” Nureyev chuckled. “An extension of the sensation wasn’t exactly difficult to emulate.”

“You’re lucky I love you,” Juno snorted.

“While we’re airing our grievances, you shot a hole in my favorite hat, you brute,” Nureyev complained.

“You’re welcome for saving your sorry neck from the hangman,” Juno snorted as quietly as he could manage, though with relief filling his lungs at the knowledge that his bullet had done exactly as he intended, it was becoming easier and easier to relax.

“My dear sheriff—”

“Not a sheriff anymore,” Juno grinned as he rounded a corner off of main street, for only in this private alleyway could he get away with pressing a kiss to the head of someone who was meant to be both his sworn enemy and a dead man.

“I’m proud of you, dear,” Nureyev smiled in return, not the knifelike grin of Peter Ransom, but something soft and a little crooked that was usually reserved for soft conversations across the campfire or hushed sweet nothings from the other side of Juno’s pillow. “You don’t think you’ll stay retired for long, do you?”

“Not when I could be helping you terrorize the good people of the straight and narrow,” Juno joked. He paused a moment to whistle for both Nureyev’s horse and his own. As much as the weight of Peter Nureyev in his arms was comforting, he wasn’t about to put Ruby through carrying both of them for the entire ride to Cerberus.

“That’s a delight to hear, my love.”

“If I’m gonna marry an outlaw, I might as well support your career.”

“Juno,” Nureyev began, pausing a moment to press a kiss to Juno’s cheek, “have I told you recently how much I love you?”

“Not recently enough,” Juno joked.

“Well then, let me rectify such a terrible crime,” Nureyev chuckled. “My love, my dear heart, my dear former sheriff—”

“Sap,” Juno accused.

“I love you more than words can say,” Nureyev finished.

“Love you too,” Juno returned with a kiss to his hairline. “So much that I’ll buy you a new hat the moment we get out of here. A congrats for successfully faking your death gift.”

“You could call it a wedding present, you know,” Nureyev laughed, jumping down from Juno’s arms at the sight of Ruby making her way around the corner.

“Whatever.”

The world didn’t need to know that former Sheriff Juno Steel’s excuse of retiring to get married wasn’t entirely a lie, nor that he planned to celebrate his honeymoon with a train robbery or two just to christen the new criminal partnership. They didn’t need to know he and his so-called sworn rival spent the last several months planning for Peter Ransom’s death and the resurgence of the bandit under a completely different name. They definitely didn’t need to know that on the other end of the blazing afternoon sun sat a ranch house and a family of criminals and an open book of names Juno and Nureyev had poured through in search of ideas for their new aliases.

The only world Juno particularly cared about was his own, climbing onto his horse with the kind of grin that made the sun look frail.

“Are you ready to go home, Mister Rose?” Nureyev called as Juno mounted his own steed.

“You’re not allowed to call me that until the wedding day, Mister Rose,” Juno snorted.

“As you wish,” Nureyev chuckled.

He didn’t wait for Juno to confirm that he was ready to go. He didn’t have to. The moment he beckoned Ruby to take off into the desert, Juno did the same, all too happy to leave Hyperion City behind in a cloud of dust.

Somewhere beyond the horizon waited the promise of home, a real one, with a family he loved and a partner he’d marry and a job that didn’t force him to hide his wedding ring under gloves, just in case anybody got too curious about the gentleman he’d been courting.

Maybe home itself was a bit of a ride away, especially with the upcoming terrain. That didn’t stop the blazing warmth in his chest. When Peter Nureyev glanced over at him with a smile as sweet and bright as a desert sunset, Juno knew the length of the journey didn’t matter one bit. He was already there.

**Author's Note:**

> YEEHAW! fuck :,)
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or ill unyee your haw
> 
> Check me out on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


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